


And the stone did, too.

by Gothiiknight



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, from the stone's perspective, lots of elemental references, very loose approach to canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 01:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18305696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothiiknight/pseuds/Gothiiknight
Summary: The Stone misses the sword when it's gone, dreams of events as they occur, and does what it can.





	And the stone did, too.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of a little challenge with my family, and wasn't really sure what to do with it so decided to throw it up here! Hope you all enjoy!

There was a boy, with a heart like a river and eyes like the rain and a hand that reached for the Sword like it was pulling water from a well. And the sword came loose for him, as had been written. As had been known. As the backward man had told them both he would.

The stone let the sword go, as it too had promised, as it knew it must. But the stone was different than it had been when it met the blade and kept it safe. The stone shouldn't have envied the boy, really. It shouldn't have missed the sword.

But it did.

It was even of the opinion, firmly, that it shouldn't have had an opinion. It was a very unrock-like thing to do, feeling things all over the place. It was catching bad habits from blades all full of purpose. But the sword and it had fit, rather, even if the sword needed to cut. The Hard Cleft must do as it was called to do.

Caliburn had two homes. And one of them was the boy's hand.

If it had bothered to listen to humans at all, it would have thought more about how often it was mentioned. The sword in the stone, always together. If it thought about them even a little, it would have felt their hands, their reverence, their everything, their _anything_.

But though the stone cared a great deal about the sword, and though the rock worried sometimes about the boy, it was indifferent to things of flesh and the flapping of tongues. The boy himself was all together something different than flesh, to a stone.

It was one year and one day after the sword left it that the stone dreamed for the first time. Which was rather irritating, of course, because mountains dreamt. Stones were only supposed to slumber.

In the dream the Stone saw a wedding and knew that it would shatter. As all things of flesh would shatter. There was the boy, and a queen, and the shadow of a knight whom wore the face of a lake. A man who would love them both. The boy of water and the queen of the crown city.

It would not be enough, of course. The stone had mixed feelings on love. It had mixed feelings on most things, really.

But the sword had looked well on his hip, and the sword had looked well being sworn upon, and the sword had looked well in general, having known its purpose. That, those things, it approved of.

The stone should not miss it so, and should not disdain the sheath it sat in. But it did. Because the sword belonged in the boy's hand or within the stone and no other places. It was the way of things and the boy should know.

The boy did not know a lot of things, though, the stone suspected. And that was alright for someone very nearly of flesh. He would learn, and he would fail, but he would try. The stone rather suspected the sword might like that. All that trying.

It did not dream again for some time. Seasons passed with it's spirit less than fully asleep, it noticed a few humans when they approached. Though it could not tell them apart.

Not until a boy came.

A boy with a sun in his heart, and fire in his eyes, who set a hand to the stone like it was the only source of warmth in the whole world. 

"What was he like, before?" the boy asked, in the language of the earth, for he had been schooled well, unlike the sword's boy. He knew deep languages, and if he spoke with a rose's accent and fire's lisp, the stone did not mind.

The stone, being a stone, answered. And answered with the truth.

The stone told him that the other boy had taken the sword like he was afraid of drowning. That his hand had come down like he'd been dying without it. That he had leaned against the Stone like an apology for stealing something precious.

The stone told him how the sword had sung, to know its second home.

The stone told him that he had seen the first boy look on the sword and on people with love. And that his heart was deep, and that he seemed a good man as far as such things went. And that the stone did not like him some days. Not in the least.

At that, its boy, the fire heart, laughed. He laughed until he cried, his body leaning against the Stone like they were old friends. His tears were hot, and the stone did not know what to do to comfort him. Or if he wanted comfort.

When the stone asked, the boy went still, as flames should not be still. And then-

-then he smiled.

"You're the first to ask me that. You know. Thank you," said the boy. And the stone was content. It stood, and the boy leaned against it, and for a while, all was well.

"I can't stop it, you know. I can see it. I see it in my dreams. I want to change it but every time I grasp for it-"

Ash.

The boy did not need to finish, the stone knew.

"It will make it worse, being his knight for a while. I know that. But-"

As it would have been easier if the stone had not known the sword. And not known the boy. As it would have been easier if it only slept.

The boy did not finish. And they did not talk about what fire must do. Or why sons might fight their fathers. Or why the city on the hill was not made of stone, it was a thing of fire and water, shining and reflecting.

It was a thing made to fall. To vanish, to be hunted for.

Water flowed. Fire burned. Above the sky. Below the stone. This at least the stone did tell the boy, and it told him more, because it was a stone, and it knew the blood within his veins. That both boys were only half things of flesh and that if he met another boy, one made if light, he should dance with him.

As fire and light should dance, even when they could not touch. The stone said this because while it was not certain of love, it was certain of the sword and of its boys. They were. And they would be.

The stone and the boy spoke on more, for many hours. And it learned that the boy with the sword was called King. And it learned that the boy with it was called Betrayer, which it thought was quite silly. And told him so.

The Betrayer left, then, and when he did he was smiling. It was not the last time he would smile. But it was one of them.

Things were quiet and the stone was alone again. It rested. Almost, it slept.

It was a year and a day before the stone dreamed again. And this time it dreamed of a dance, with blades like paltry copies of the Sword. The Betrayer and his knight, the Grail knight, the man like a spear made of shining things. They fought in a dance, before the King and the Sword.

And for them it was joy and it was play, for neither could be touched. Neither could be harmed, not now. The stone watched and was content. This too would pass. This too would shatter. But it was grateful, that the boy had laughed.

It envied the Sword now, too, watching their boys. And it wondered if the Hard Edge would know. If it could smell or taste or sense the stone stillness beneath the Betrayer's hands. It wondered if the Sword could see as the boy of flames could see.

The stone did not dream again. And in it's rest it knew a profound stillness on the land. Being a stone, it did not know to worry over this. It did not feel the war, or the shattering of wedding vows, or the illness of flesh that left the King like a glacier melting. It did not know the streak of light leaving, and it did not know that the Betrayer did not smile anymore.

It did not know the Betrayer was uncertain to be glad or angry with it and would not have known what to feel if it did.

It did not know that the backwards man had gone to stone as well. Gone to crystal.

It slept finally, dreamless, to be woken in cataclysm. It woke full of knowledge, the only anchor in the land. It woke _as_ the land. The Sword's stone.

And the Sword was screaming.

For it had cut what must not be cut, and the King was dying, and the Betrayer was dying. And both men mourned the other. Mourned the deaths. They were angry at each other, all of them. Too many hands turned against each other, hot tempers, deep currents, the city fallen.

Between them lay a circle shattered.

The stone was itself, before all things, and so it was present at the end.  It settled on them in a quiet way, beneath them, around them.

They quieted at its presence. As did the world around them. It was a stone, made to hold the Sword, and no more. It had envied the blade, and the boy. The King. It was made to sit, and to witness.

But it felt the same way it had as the boy drew the Sword from it's grip. It felt....

_This was an unfair thing._

Betrayals colliding them, failures occluding them, and all the weight of the land and hopes and so many things of flesh and breath grinding them towards each other, their boys. 

The stone had never accepted the boys were flesh, though. It did not accept that they would fall, that they would rot. Ignoring time, it held them all, as only _it_ could hold. It held them till the King could be taken to island Avalon. And it held them till the Betrayer could crawl to it, still bleeding from Caliburn's wound, and curled at the Stone's feet.

"This isn't how it's supposed to go," the Betrayer protested and his voice was soft, and his voice was wondering, it was a croak, weak and raw.

The stone told him to sleep, told him to rest. It told him that it did not care, as mountains trembled around it, as mountains bowed when it reached out. The stone would not bow, and if it waited, it would not wait alone. Not again.

And this was how it went-

All knew the King rested in Avalon, awaiting need to call him forth. But they did not know the rest, the work of the Stone.

They said the Sword was given to the lake, and the lady, and that was untrue and true at once. For they were two halves together. The lady and the king, the water that nourished the land. The sword rested in his hands.

And they said the sword did not return to the Stone, and this was true and untrue. For the Stone stayed with both, it laid on them in slumber, and it knew the Sword again. As was right. And it knew that the Sword had missed it as well, and that was right too.

They said nothing of the Betrayer but that he died and was gone, and that he was unloved.

This was false. For the Betrayer went to slumber as his father did, learning the lessons of stone and sky together. He curled up like embers at the foot of the stone, and marveled that someone cared. Waiting to wake until the world was in need, in need and ready for both flood and fire.

Camelot fell, and knights scattered, and even if one did not care for the love of troubled kings or too-sharp swords or stones, there was still one that loved the Betrayer and wept for him. The knight of light, the grail seeker, who was bent and tired when he visited the Stone a year and a day after the boys had gone to rest.

He pressed his hands to it and felt nothing. For light and the stone were strangers to each other and this man was within himself entirely, as the Stone knew itself to be.

But the knight said anyways. "Keep them well, I have faith."

But the knight, that knew nothing, said. "Hold them please, for the King is needed, and...and he is too. For a day when they're not known, I beg of you."

But the knight, the foolish knight, said this. "Heaven wanted me, but I will not go. They must be forgotten and remembered and I know them. And I alone, friend, will walk with you. I will keep vigil."

And the stone did not understand him, and the stone could not speak to him, but it said, anyways, such things as this.

_Thank you, for you made the fire laugh._

_Thank you, for you made the waters well._

_Thank you, for you alone did your best._

_Thank you, for believing in them and in me. And we are not friends. But thank you for the words._

Together they sat, the knight who could not see the Betrayer beneath the Stone. Or the King, far off. The stone, who did not understand this man. The knight stayed a while. And then the knight began to walk, began to live, began to learn. Sometimes, he returned, and talked to the stone that did not understand and listened to the words he could not hear, and felt content.

And the Stone did, too.

 


End file.
